


It May be Different Still

by ghostknight



Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Alcohol, Coming Out, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Some internalized transphobia, Talking, Trans Male Character, also featuring my bear Orsino agenda, minor discussion of comp het, stealth Orsino, trans man Cesario, trans man Orsino, wrote this for my little gay t4t heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostknight/pseuds/ghostknight
Summary: "Orsino is not a nervous man. Cesario’s lord is brash and full of poetry. A big man that Prometheus must have crafted from love instead of clay, for his heart is so full. Yet tonight he has bundled up something anxious within himself, and Cesario recognizes himself as the cause."Orsino and Cesario just became engaged and, once free of all the swordfights, twin reveals, and other excitements of the afternoon, have a quiet chat in the privacy of Orsino's rooms about their new relationship.
Relationships: Orsino/Viola | Cesario (Twelfth Night)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	It May be Different Still

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always thinking about how Orsino leaves space for Viola/Cesario's gender expression at the end of twelfth night and the potential reasons behind it. And maximum amount of trans characters is my favorite way to interpret anything <3

The fire in Orsino’s room crackles with warmth and Cesario watches his former master nurse his glass over his own drink, much like he used to before their engagement. The Duke’s large frame should dwarf his armchair, but tonight he looks small. His shoulders are hunched over himself, his legs crossed tightly at the ankles, and he turns his wine in his hands, round and round and round, pausing only for a sip. When he thinks Cesario is no longer observing him, he glances over, quick as a dart. For the first time since Cesario has known him Orsino seems out of his depth. 

Even earlier today when he believed Cesario had eloped with Olivia, he’d known where to direct his fury. And even when he was lovesick for the Countess he threw himself into his languishing and his love letters. 

Orsino is not a nervous man. Cesario’s lord is brash and full of poetry. A big man that Prometheus must have crafted from love instead of clay, for his heart is so full. Yet tonight he has bundled up something anxious within himself, and Cesario recognizes himself as the cause. He can’t bring himself to say anything either, though he has something he must say. Instead he flicks at his glass, listening for the different pings, and kicks his heel against his own chair. 

Orsino clears his throat. “I suppose things will be different now that we are to be married.”

Cesario considers, as he always does with his lord's words, before he speaks. “Will they? Is it such a different partnership than what we had before?”

Orsino’s brows furrow in concern as he sits straighter and leans over the arm of his chair to face Cesario. “You will certainly no longer be my servant, I hope you did not think that would be the case. I would never ask my wife―”

Cesario laughs― grimaces maybe, “That’s not what I meant. Didn’t we have a companionship? Don’t we still, my lord?”

Cesario laughs again, with true joy in his belly this time when Orsino’s face twists at the title. “Please, just Orsino now. Don’t laugh, you’re―” Orsino begins to laugh too, “we should be beyond titles now.”

“Oh, but you’ll always be my lord, milord,” Cesario grins, kicking off his shoes and drawing his socked feet up into the warmth of the chair. “My lord, upon whom I gazed with adoration as he brooded over the cliffs of Illyria.” He swoons for full effect, hand at his forehead.

“I do not brood,” says Orsino, smiling. 

“You do, and you know it so you cannot even mount a suitable defense against the accusation.” Cesario smiles back, cheeks warm with Orsino’s radiance. After a pause where he looks into his glass, he begins again, “See, this is what we have, what we had. This laughter between us, for me at least, it was my love.” Cesario’s cheeks grow warmer at this confession, though his smile doesn’t falter.

“I know,” admits Orsino. “I think I knew the whole time. But I hoped, feared that… Well things are not like that anymore. Everything I assumed was different from the truth.” He gestures to Cesario curled up in the chair and Cesario knows he’s referring to Viola.

“And they may be different still,” says Cesario delicately.

Orsino nods though his brows are furrowed, “I suppose we still have more to learn about each other. Have you heard word from the captain regarding your dresses and such?”

Cesario knew this was coming, this question and all the weight it carried. When would he become a woman again? He had hoped he could remain as Cesario, but maybe that’s not what Orsino wanted. “It’s too soon to have heard anything.”

“Of course. Well, are you uncomfortable? I could send for something more suitable from town, or perhaps the lady Olivia might lend you―”

“I have been dressed like this for several months, I am quite content.” Cesario crosses his arms, not with any vitriol, only as a last line of defense in front of his chest. 

“In fact… In fact when my old clothes do arrive I think I shall throw them into the sea. Let them drown as Viola should have.” He bores his gaze into the fire, matching its heat.

“Cesario―” 

Cesario doesn't look to see whatever horrified face Orsino must be making, instead he pushes himself out of his seat, “Your glass is empty. I’ll get us more wine.” 

“Cesario, wait.” Orsino stands too, and Cesario stops on his command ― that’s the manservant still in him, he supposes. “Does this mean you’d rather remain as you are now?”

Cesario sighs. His pulse is running fast through his veins, but he makes himself turn. “Didn’t you say I’d remain Cesario until I changed back into my woman’s dress?”

Orsino approaches him as if he’s a rabbit that might scare at any moment. “I did. But do not feel that just because we met while you were Cesario that you must remain that way. My feelings for you have no stipulations. You may dress as you like, be as you like.”

Cesario blinks, “Really?”

“Of course,” Orsino’s eyes are round and hurt― offended that Cesario could have ever thought Orsino would put limits on his love. Another laugh gets tangled up in Cesario’s throat, he chokes it down as he closes the distance between him and Orsino. Tentatively he takes the duke’s hands, warm and soft ― not sea-tumbled like Cesario’s. 

“All my time here with you cemented this mannish feeling within me. It was there even before I called myself Cesario, but getting to live like this for so many months… I realized you were exactly the kind of man I would like to be and the kind of man I would like to care for.”

Orsino looks at him wide-eyed and then pulls one hand free to cover his mouth as he looks upwards. His eyes are closed. Is he looking for guidance? Forgiveness? Composure? Hiding tears or laughter? Not knowing is eating away at Cesario, his one hand shakes within the duke’s grasp. But when Orsino drops his hand and returns his gaze back to Cesario, he is simply smiling wide, and warm.

“Incredible. My boy, we are more alike than I could have dreamed.”

Cesario wants to laugh at Orsino’s habitual return to his favorite endearment, but he can only stare as he begins to parse the meaning of his words. “You’re also―?”

Orsino grins and nods, doubles over with sparkling laughter, and drops himself back to lounge in his chair with an air of satisfaction, leaving Cesario to gape. “I am! I am.”

“How…” had he never noticed? is what he wants to ask, but he never had any reason to question it. In Cesario’s eyes Orsino had always been the man. He was flawed of course, Cesario could see it, his unrelenting pursuit of Olivia had irked Cesario for more than one reason. But Cesario sees in Orsino the confidence, the sheer passion, and the eloquence he wanted to embody. And, of course ― his round face, light stubble on the upper lip, dark brows, aquiline nose, artfully combed-back black curls, eyes touched by sadness ― he is handsome. The few times Cesario was guilty of drooling over his master as he went swimming, Orsino had always been wearing his shirtsleeves. 

“My father had no heir, I told him I would be the man for him, if only he would let me. He agreed. I was lucky I suppose, to be able to be myself from boyhood.” Cesario is almost jealous, but he brushes it away with the reminder that he is not alone, and the joy that accompanies. “Though I am embarrassed to say, I always felt I had to prove myself. I hope you do not feel that way, you are twice the man that most are, Cesario, I guarantee it.” He says this with a stern gaze and a tough conviction Cesario almost feels chastised. 

Cesario smiles and kneels at Orsino’s side. “We men who make ourselves, have a harder time of it.”

Orsino smiles sadly, “Yes.” He pats Cesario’s hand, “I am glad we are the same in this way, though. I never thought I would share this with anyone. If I married, of course, but I never expected anyone to understand in this way.” Cesario leans his head against his leg, reveling in the soft contact. He wished he had known earlier, then maybe this business with his feelings, wouldn’t have been so complicated. Orsino’s leg tenses and Cesario looks up. “I owe you an apology.”

“Whatever for?” Cesario’s brows worry into his forehead.

“For dragging you through my mess of feelings for Olivia. I thought― perhaps not thought, more like felt without thinking ― that if I loved her, if I loved such a lady as Olivia, I would be more of a man. And if she loved me back, twice so.” Orsino leans his head back, and the melancholy Cesario was so used to seeing there captures his expression once more. 

That won’t do. “You are a fool for chasing her so long, but you are forgiven. However,” Cesario rises, quickly climbing into Orsino’s lap, linking his arms around his neck and returning the duke’s surprised grin. “If you are still looking for someone to make a man out of you, I know just the gentleman for the job.”

Orsino laughs and Cesario relishes the feeling of the mirth shaking his body. “Really, and who might that be?” 

“One― Cesario ― of Messaline.” Between each word Cesario presses a kiss into Orsino’s lips. When he’s done, he brings their foreheads together so that they’re barely touching, and he feels a pleasant tingle between his eyes. “Orsino?” he murmurs.

“Yes?” is the reply, just as soft, puffing air onto Cesario’s face.

“You still want to marry me right?”

Orsino pulls his forehead away, blinking at Cesario, incredulous. “Of course! I want nothing more than to have you as my husband.”

Cesario grins, pulling Orsino into a tight embrace. “Then husbands we shall be.”

**Author's Note:**

> [~Thanks for reading~](https://ghostknight.carrd.co/)


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